


two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

by jondrette



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, anya's a barista. dmitry's a thief. vlad is a café owner. gleb is a cop. what more can you want?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jondrette/pseuds/jondrette
Summary: “Uh— Thanks. I probably would’ve been on my way to jail right now if you hadn't let me hide.”“Just get out before that police officer comes back. I don’t want to get in trouble for hiding a wanted man.”





	1. bathroom hideout

**Author's Note:**

> this literally came out of nowhere. i'm not really sure where it's going or what's gonna happen, but it's a coffee shop au and every ship needs one of those, so here it is. originally i meant for this to be a one-shot but i think i might just continue it as a series, depending on how you guys like it.
> 
> feel free to leave a comment! constructive criticism is always welcomed!

The only way Anya would be able to afford her bachelor’s degree in Applied Art at Saint Petersburg State University was by working her ass off.

In early February, about seven months into Anya’s employment at a small café near the _Universitetskaya Naberezhnaya_ , a tall man comes running through the doors of the otherwise quiet locale, bringing a gust of the cold Russian winter air in with him. Anya shudders as it reaches her behind the bar, but keeps her eyes cast downward as he bends over, heaving for air.

He continues doing this for a second or two, before approaching her. “Can I use the bathroom?” His English is broken, each word pronounced with a Russian accent.

“You have to buy something if you wish to use the toilet,” Anya tells him in her, and what seems to be his, native tongue, swiping a wet cloth across the bar top.

“Please. I know the guy who owns this place!” When the only thing this entices from Anya is a raise of a brow, an exasperated sigh slips out between his lips. “It’s an emergency, and I have no money.” Dmitry shoves his hands in his pockets, and ignores the way the rubles he stole from an unsuspecting tourist out on the Embarkment feel against his cold fingertips. It’s only a white lie; he has money, it only happens to be cash he can’t afford to spend on a cup of the lukewarm coffee he already knows they serve here.

“I’m sorry, but you have to—“ As if on cue, a police officer walks past the café, and the tall stranger’s shoulders tense up as he bends, as if trying to make himself look smaller. He meets Anya's eyes for a split second, and upon recognising the desperation in them, Anya caves. “Okay, fine. Go hide!”

A smile flashes on his face, and suddenly Anya realises that despite his height, there’s a boyish, almost youthful charm to him. She’s too busy looking over her shoulder, watching Dmitry swing the bathroom door shut behind him, to notice the front door open.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” The officer had approached the bar with silent steps, and caught Anya off guard. She swings around, the surprise enticing a gasp from her lips, and drops the cloth on the floor. “My apologies. It was not my intent to scare you so,” he says in perfect Russian, a weak smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

It looks wrong, as if it does not match with the uniform and his otherwise stern features. Still, Anya forces a polite smile and shakes her head carefully. “It’s alright. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“So I did. As pleasant as it would have been, I am unfortunately not here to make small talk…?” He trails off, one brow raised in anticipation as he waits for Anya to give him her name.

“Anya.”

“Anya," he repeats, chewing it over as if to get a feel of it on his tongue. “My name is Gleb Vaganov. Anyhow, Anya, as I said I am not here for small talk. It seems our beautiful city has a thief on its hands, and word says he’s been spotted in these streets. Now, I’m sure a hard-working, loyal Russian as yourself has no connection to such a man, but if you see anyone suspicious, come to the Nevsky Prospect station and help me get this thief off the streets.”

“If I see anyone suspicious, I’ll let you know.” She repeats, making it clear she’s understood him.

“Good,” Gleb says with a curt nod and a smile curling at the edges of his lips.

The moment the door closes behind him, Anya releases a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She stays still, watching him walk away and out of sight, before turning to alert the possible thief hiding in the bathroom.

“Hey!” She calls out, one hand knocking rather aggressively on the bathroom door. “The cop is gone, if that’s who you’re hiding from.”

Her words are met with silence, and for a moment Anya thinks he might have crawled out the window. Then... “You sure?” He croaks from behind the door.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Then the door swings open, and he sashays out, as if nothing has happened. A smug smile tugs at the corner of his mouth while this happens, and Anya really wants to pull him outside by the collar of his coat, but this is her workplace and if her boss finds out that she’s been manhandling their customers… well, it won’t sit well with Vlad, to put it that way.

“Uh— Thanks. I probably would’ve been on my way to jail right now if you hadn't let me hide.”

“Just get out before that police officer comes back. I don’t want to get in trouble for hiding a wanted man.”

“Alright.”

The man (Boy? Anya really isn’t sure.) turns and walks towards the door, hands comfortably shoved into his pockets, and Anya returns to her spot behind the bar, once again swiping the now dry cloth over the bar top. After a minute, the lack of the opening of a door forces her to look up again, and her eyes meet the ones of the thief.

“Hey, next time you see your boss, Vlad, or whatever he calls himself these days, let him know that Dmitry’s back, okay?” Then he pushes the door open and walks out, disappearing down the Universitetskaya Naberezhnaya before Anya can even think of a response.

So that’s his name. _Dmitry._


	2. overpriced, lukewarm coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dmitry returns to popov's corner, reunites with an old friend, and anya listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any russians who might stumble upon this, please don't kill me for butchering the dish that is pirozhki. i had no idea which form of the word to use, so i just went with what seemed best.
> 
> took me two whole months to write the second chapter, and for that i am sorry. hit a case of writer's block, but i am back! anyway, enjoy this veeery late update!
> 
> thank you for the positive feedback on chapter one! means a lot.

Seeing Dmitry at the café wasn’t a surprise, but how long it had taken him to show up again was. Based on the way he’d held himself during their first meeting, chin held high and smirk lining his lips despite hiding from a police officer, Anya expected he would be there the next morning, waiting for her to open up.

He wasn’t. The day after that again, he was a no-show. After a week, she began thinking he might finally have been caught. The thought of this created an image of him crammed into the back of a police car, his long legs pushed up as close to his body as possible, hands cuffed behind his back, in Anya’s mind, and during the slower hours of her shift, she would humour herself with these. Two weeks after their first meeting, when she’d nearly forgotten what his face really looked like, he sauntered in through the door, dressed in a coat that hung far too loose on his figure to be his.

Anya greeted him with a curt nod. “Please don’t tell me you’re here to hide from that police officer again.” The Russian language rolled easily off her tongue. Wiping her wet hands on her apron, she threw him a look, one eyebrow arched, while waiting for his response.

He chuckled. “Oh no, this time I’m only here because I want a cup of over-priced, lukewarm coffee.”

“Over-priced?” 

“Mhm,” Dmitry hummed. “Over-priced **_and_** lukewarm.”

Anya gave him a quizzical look, one brow arching in mild confusion, features displaying nothing but dismay. “Why don’t you just go to the Starbucks on the Nevsky Avenue if you’re so unhappy with the coffee we serve here?”

Before Dmitry had a chance to respond, the back entrance door flung open, and the owner of Popov’s Corner himself, Vladimir, stood in the doorway with his arms extended. “Dmitry!” He exclaimed. 

“Vlad!” The smirk that Anya had started believing was the default form of his mouth slipped away and revealed a warm smile which spread from ear to ear. He quickly snuck past Anya to give Vlad a hug. “ _Bozhe moj!_ You’ve gained a few since I last saw you. St. Petersburg is treating you well, old friend.”

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, honestly, it wasn’t her fault the two reuniting friends couldn’t keep their voices down.

Dmitry’s comment about Vlad’s weight went seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the customers in the small café, but enticed a gasp from the senior, although a smile traced his lips and made it apparent that it was all of good fun. “And you’ve dropped a few… You look a little weary, Dmitry. But— Come, come! Let’s sit down and talk over some dinner, yes? On the house.” He gave Dmitry’s shoulders a friendly squeeze before motioning towards an empty table. “Anya, dear, will you serve us two of those wonderful pirozhki?”  
  


* * *

  
The rest of the shift went as normal. No police officers, no street rats begging for a place to hide, just a crowd of American tourists seeking warmth and a break from the biting Russian wind. The only thing out of the ordinary was the two men sitting at the corner table, plates of pirozhki licked clean, engaged in conversation as if they were in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the world.

Anya tried to listen, her curiosity an itch that begged to be scratched, but to no avail. They spoke in murmurs and whispers, their voices only occasionally increasing in volume enough for Anya to hear, and even then she was only able to pick up a few words. Sometimes Vlad would laugh, and the sound would fill the room with a warm feeling. Dmitry would smile and chuckle, nod his head when appropriate, and lean in closer to tell a joke or share a secret with his old friend.

Other customers claimed Anya’s attention for the last hour and a half of her shift, and any spare time between orders were spent crouched behind the counter, oogling at her phone while absentmindedly scrolling through her Facebook feed.  
  


* * *

   
“Thank you for staying late and helping me lock up, Anya. It wasn’t my intention, but dinner with an old friend makes time go by so fast,” Vlad apologised, rubbing his hands together to warm them from the cold Russian wind. A smile grew on his face, and he turned to Dmitry, walking a few steps behind Anya and her boss. “But God! Dmitry, you are back in good ol’ Petersburg! We should celebrate, should we not? Yes, come on, we’ll go to a bar down the street from my apartment. They serve great, and cheap, vodka there!”

Anya smiled to herself, the thought of an intoxicated Vladimir Popov stumbling back to his apartment on a Tuesday night entirely too entertaining. 

“Ah, alright. Fine. To the bar it is,” Dmitry said, unable to fight the oncoming smile Anya could hear in his voice.

She took that as her cue to leave, to retreat back to her humble abode and let the old friends continue their reunion without her prying ears listening in the background. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Vlad,” she said with a smile. “Dmitry.” A nod in his direction is all he gets.

“Oh, no, Anya!” He dragged out her name, jogging the five metres distancing them to grab her by the shoulders. “Come celebrate with us! Dmitry will get sick of me at one point and I don’t want to carry him home alone when he’s drunk.” The last part was murmured in her ear, and when Vlad pulled away, a begging smile had curved his lips upward.

“Hey, I heard that!” He was embarrassed. Anya didn’t know Dmitry well enough to come to that conclusion on her own, but the pink flush painting his cheeks said enough on their own.

She couldn’t fight the smile pulling at the corners of her lips, her eyes meeting Dmitry’s in the dark. “Okay. I’ll come along. But only if you pay for my drinks, Mr. Popov. You owe me for working late, remember?”


End file.
